


Mourning

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [46]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct sequel to Closure: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2764502/chapters/6199256<br/>Zevran tries to get through to Theron after Tamlen's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning

It was the night after Theron had buried Tamlen, and his continued distance was threatening to make the others worry - more than they already were, of course. There was an unanimous decision that they leave the mountainside behind, get away from the cold, the eerie ruins of Haven, and the sets of tracks in the snow that led downhill.

The ranger led the way, and seemed to be making an effort to keep a distance between the others, even Zevran. His responses to any attempt to draw him into conversation or settle bickering were monosyllabic, if he even spoke at all. His gaze wasn’t on the path ahead, but the ground at his feet.

That night, Theron turned in early, and Zevran followed at his leisure. When he entered the tent, the ranger was sitting cross-legged on the bed in his trousers, head in his hands. He looked up when the blond entered, and hurriedly wiped at his eyes as if that was all that was needed to hide the fact he’d so obviously been crying.

Zevran turned his back and busied himself with getting out of his armour while the ranger tried and failed to recollect himself behind him, and then sat down beside the Dalish elf, close but not touching yet.

"Theron, you don’t need to pretend to me that you’re fine, like you do with the others." The Antivan commented at length, watching Theron begin to curl back in on himself, retreat back into his pain, guilt and grief. "I know you’re not. No-one in your situation could be fine. So don’t shut me out like this, _mi amor,_ I beg of you.”

The ranger looked up through his damp eyelashes at the former Crow as he spoke, eyes red and watering uncontrollably still.

"I’m so sorry." He eventually spoke, his voice hoarse with emotion. He sounded so… Broken. Defeated.

Zevran moved to lie back on the bedroll, pulling the covers down as he went, and he waited for Theron to join him before he pulled them back up.

"Come here," He murmured when the Dalish elf curled up against him, hiding his face as his shoulders twitched in suppressed sobs. "Sleep if you wish, _mi amor_. I won’t go anywhere, and I promise you now that nothing will happen.”

 

The next morning Theron was as withdrawn and morose as he had been yesterday, which didn’t surprise Zevran in the slightest. So deep a wound couldn’t be healed overnight with simple words. Zevran knew that from experience.

The others had learnt their lesson from yesterday’s time spent on the road, and made fewer attempts to draw the ranger into their chatter as he walked on ahead.

“We still have four days’ travel before we get to Redcliffe.” Leliana commented softly as she looked at Theron’s back; again, the Dalish elf strode on with the dog. “Do you think he will be ready to deliver the ashes to the castle?”

“I am not sure.” Zevran admitted.

“Grief is grief. This is something he can only truly get through on his own.” Wynne nodded sagely. “All we can do is support him.” She added, just as Zevran was about to frown at her.

“Theron told me a little about Tamlen not long after we met. About how he disappeared, and Theron was Conscripted right before the funeral his clan held.” Alistair commented, and Zevran nodded in confirmation. It seemed that Theron hadn’t told his fellow Warden more than that about Tamlen.

“They held a funeral for one of their own who wasn’t even dead?” Sten frowned.

“They didn’t know otherwise.” Alistair pointed out, looking up at the Qunari. “Maybe it was for the best they didn’t.” He added, looking back at the ranger.

“Poor Theron, having to find out in such an awful way his friend was alive all this time.” Leliana shook her head sympathetically.

Zevran nodded again, knowing it wasn’t his place to correct the bard, to tell the others that Theron had once viewed his fellow Dalish as something more than a friend, if they didn’t know or suspect already. As he looked at the black-haired elf mutely trudging on ahead with the mabari at his side, the Antivan couldn’t stop himself from wondering if Theron had ever stopped thinking of Tamlen like that.

Again, camp was fairly quiet. Despite how little Theron spoke on a normal evening around the campfire, his near complete silence was painfully noticeable. He sat picking listlessly at his food until he tipped the cooling remains out for the dog, despite his disapproval whenever the others encouraged Dudain’s begging by giving him scraps. He’d done the same for their morning meal; Zevran had noted how the black-haired elf had barely broken his fast by nibbling at some leftover bread before he’d given the rest to the hound.

The group exchanged looks as the Dalish elf silently got to his feet and began to walk away from the campfire, before Zevran got up and hurried after him.

“Come, _mi amor_ , the fire is far warmer than sitting alone in a tent, and the night is young.” The blond said as Theron slowed down to look back at him a few paces away from the entrance to their tent pitched a distance away from the fire. The ranger shook his head in response.

“No, I’m fine. I’d prefer to be alone.” Theron replied quietly, closing his eyes. Zevran sighed, taking in the dark shadows under them, and how bloodshot they looked when they opened again. The ranger clearly hadn’t slept much last night.

“Are you sure?”

Theron nodded once firmly.

“I need time to think.”

Zevran couldn’t help a frown.

“But you’ve been wrapped up in your thoughts for the past two days.” He pointed out. “Surely that is long enough, yes? If you ever want to talk to any of us, or to me, we honestly will listen.” The blond answered, glancing back at the others sat round the fire while they stood in the shadows outside the light.

Theron looked up at him then, and Zevran knew he was thinking about what had happened the previous night.

“I… Don’t want to talk about it.”

The former Crow tutted.

“Theron, I am fairly certain that all of us - except perhaps Morrigan and the dog - have suffered loss at some point or another in our lives.” The blond pointed out. “We can relate, I promise you.”

The ranger shook his head again.

“Zevran, I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.” Theron insisted, taking a step towards their tent, and away from Zevran. The blond could see from the way he held himself, shoulders tense and hands balled into loose fists, that he’d already started to retreat from the conversation, and disappearing into the tent would be the end of it.

It would be like last night, with Theron only allowing his detached front to fall once he was in the solitude of a closed-off tent, far away from the eyes of the group. He would not be the strong Grey Warden leader that everyone was expecting to save the world, but a young man broken and consumed by the loss of another tangible connection to his old life as the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders.

“Theron…”

The Dalish elf shook his head stubbornly.

“No. Tamlen… He’s dead. And I was the one who killed him. I put an arrow through his eye like he was any other darkspawn.” Theron answered, tone growing bitter, body language tenser. Zevran stepped closer, longing to put an arm round his lover, but he didn’t know what the reaction would be.

“ _Amor_ , you didn’t kill him.” The former Crow answered, ignoring the look of confusion it got him. “He was dead as soon as he touched that mirror. You thought he was dead until the other night. You ended his suffering.”

Theron let out a huffing breath.

“I ended his suffering, like he was a wounded animal.” He repeated darkly, shaking his head. “He was my friend, my _lethallin_ , and despite everything I loved him. I think I still do.” The ranger answered, shoulders drooping as he finally said the words aloud. Zevran watched, heart twisting in empathy at the look of dull resignation that crossed Theron’s face as he mouthed them again to himself.

Theron looked up at Zevran then, no doubt thinking of Tamlen as much as Zevran was now thinking of Rinna.

“Even when I told him, when he laughed in my face and thought it a joke, I didn’t give up that idiotic, _childish_ wish that he’d eventually love me back one day. I just pushed it away.” Theron shook his head in disbelief. “Loved him, and killed him.” The ranger’s lips twitched up into a brief, grim smile, and he laughed softly to himself.

“Theron.” Zevran frowned in concern, but the ranger seemed to pull himself back together with a heavy sigh and another bark of bitter laughter.

“’M fine.” The Dalish elf insisted, taking a step towards the tent. “Really.” He added when the sudden wavering quality to his voice didn’t seem to convince Zevran. The blond raised one eyebrow knowingly, and Theron cleared his throat uncomfortably. The ranger’s gaze flicked over Zevran’s shoulders as he shifted his weight nervously, exactly like a skittish halla preparing to bolt.

“ _Amor_ , I know you’re thinking about running.” Zevran informed him gently, taking a slow step back in the hopes that the space would help calm the Dalish elf. The last thing any of them needed was Theron taking off into the night again; there was no guarantee that Zevran or even the dog would be able to find him easily without risking getting lost themselves. Besides, the Antivan was concerned that if Theron left camp in the state he was in now he wouldn’t return until long after morning had broken.

The ranger’s silence spoke for him as they stared at each other.

“Easy, Theron, easy...” Zevran murmured. “You have no reason to run from me, or the camp.”

“I know.” The Dalish elf replied quietly, looking down at his feet. Once more, he suddenly looked so vulnerable from within the depths of his grief. “And I don’t want to shut you out, of all people, but…” Theron shook his head as words failed him, closing his eyes tightly.

Zevran stepped closer again now it seemed the momentary threat of Theron bolting had passed, and drew the ranger into a tight hug.

“I loved him. I killed him.” The Dalish elf whispered again into the former Crow’s armoured shoulder, almost too quiet to be heard. The two sides of a coin, or the blade of a knife. A beautifully linked dichotomy.

“I know, _amor_ , I know. Believe me when I say I understand how much it hurts. Like a dagger through the heart. Like you would rather die as well rather than endure another second.”

“How would you-?”

Zevran realised that he hadn’t told the ranger about what had made him take the job that no-one else had wanted, what had driven him out of Antiva for the first time in his life. Hadn’t told him about Rinna. He inwardly cursed himself, and kept talking, kept holding Theron.

“But I have faith that you can and will endure this. You have gotten so far, and I am so proud of you. We only need to return to Redcliffe, hand over the Ashes and then be on our way to Denerim for the Landsmeet, yes?”

It wasn’t a question, as such, but the blond felt Theron nod anyway.

“You can do this, _mi_ _amor_.” Zevran loosened his grip on the ranger, casting the group huddled round the campfire a last glance before he took Theron’s hand and led the way into their tent. The Dalish elf followed, as docile as a lamb. Sometimes it was easier to speak with touch rather than words.

The dead were truly dead now, and it was all Zevran could do to softly kiss away the misery that mourning brought, to show Theron that healing was possible in the only way he knew how. Their bodies lay entwined later, armour abandoned, as Zevran chased away the pain for a night with gentle touches and gentler words, regardless of which name Theron whispered brokenly to himself at the end.

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a low mood recently and felt like writing a bit more on Closure, so this piece was born.  
> http://a-mahariels-travels.tumblr.com/post/115117093408/series-update


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